


Ritual

by Anonymous



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Boys In Love, Introspection, M/M, MAGIC HAIR, Marriage, Nudity, Ritual Tattooing, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-03 19:50:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17290304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It's odd, he thinks some time after he loses himself in the pain of the needle, that he's here. Seven thousand years and a world that's visibly dying by the day, that he's finally found a place where he feels like he belongs.





	Ritual

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Darkarashi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkarashi/gifts).



> This is extremely indulgent fic about my tief boi and his feelings about one of the NPCs in the game I'm in but hey, I wrote it. So you assholes gotta read it. Maybe.
> 
> I mostly wrote this for me but also for my dear Dungeon Master, and yes, this is blatant bait to get me nice things in our campaign.

They've been at this for hours now. Ektor is cold in the parts of his body that haven't been touched by the needle, while the parts that _have_ been feel uncomfortably flush. Stretched tight, like someone decided to use him for the making of a drum and forgot to kill him before they started pulling his skin over the instrument.

With the constant pain, Ektor feels like crying. Well, that's a lie. He's already cried. Several times. As it is, he feels vulnerable and open. There's a haze over his mind, making it so he can't really tell what's going on around him very much anymore. Graanth started on his head with this whole process. The most painful area to get a tattoo, or so he was informed. The pattern of markings on his-- _husband's_ own body tells of personal experience. Done young? Maybe. He knows the markings are of cultural significance to Goliaths, signifying their tribe and clan and their belonging to the community at large. Graanth has his community, yes. But he's the only Goliath Ektor knows of in Vindictierre. And if he isn't, he's certainly the only one from his tribe.

Ektor can sympathize.

("That boy is Demon-touched, Aeon! Don't come crying to me when the curse comes true!")

Still, it doesn't stop his lament when Graanth shaves his skull until the only hair left is his eyebrows, or the tears when Graanth, halfway through the first portion of markings that Ektor knows are going to be similar to the other's when they're complete, has to stop and work the razor yet again over hair that grows wild with the literal storm that courses through the veins of the tiefling.

He thrashes, and is held still by two extra sets of hands. The first is Cinna, the other tiefling in town. Graanth's best friend, and a confidant Ektor didn't realize would become so important to him. Her strong arms hold him by his horns. She says something. It might be a joke. It might be something soothing. More than likely it's both, but all Ektor can focus on is her green skin and golden eyes, strange specters in his pain-haze.

The other is Alec, the human boy-king pulled out of time like he was before he could take his throne. He lives in Pinna now, where his own country once stood, but came with the rest of his former disparate band of companions at the word that he and Graanth would be married. Soft-hearted but strong in his conviction. A brother he never thought he'd acquire.

Their presence should be calming, but in his state, naked, shorn, and bleeding weakly into his bathtub while he's worked over, he feels anything but.

They take a break after his skull is done. His entire head feels like it's on fire. He's still bleeding, but that doesn't seem to phase Graanth. Ektor's head is lightly cushioned against his shoulder, his body curled up against the much taller Goliath's torso.

"If you want to stop, this is much more than I ever expected of anyone."

The words are whispered against Ektor's ear. It's certainly true; this was Ektor's idea. Graanth never asked this of him. A large part of him wants to scream YES and retreat to regret everything about this--

(Graanth's grip on his hand tightens. Not uncomfortably, but it's much more of a reaction than he usually gives Ektor when the tiefling says something dramatic like this.

But his smile stays. Graanth cancels his own work for the day. Rings are commissioned, and it feels like the entire city knows what's going to happen without them informing much of anyone before the day is over.

And that night, when they're settling into sleep, Graanth curled around him, the last thing he hears is a whispered "thank you" into his ear.)

\--but the urge fades. Ektor shakes his head after someone- Cinna, probably- wipes the excess blood from his face and Graanth's chest. "Not until it's finished."

After the initial lingering pain recedes, they resume. Lines of ink are etched into the sides of his neck and lead down, running down and tracing his collarbone and bisecting his chest at the sternum.

Rings are hammered into his upper arms, felt but not nearly as jarring as the first part of this process was. The fugue state he started in hasn't returned, which may almost be worse. He can see every hit, feel every prick of the needle, but at least he isn't in danger of hurting anyone any longer.

Cuffs are added to the display, leaving his wrists tight and restricted. His hands, tools of his trade that are indispensable. It'll heal, though. This won't effect his dexterity or ability to manipulate objects and people, but the awareness of sensation just serves to highlight that even his delicate touch is nothing compared to his tattoer.

(It amuses him that there's a streak of thief in Graanth's background. He loves card games, and gambling even more. He's enormous, but the deft way he moves and can pick his way through even the most complicated of locks always leaves him impressed.

But he's terrible at cards. Even after Ektor takes him under his wing and shows him how to cheat without being noticed, Ektor can't remember a time when Graanth comes home owing more favors to his friends than he's received. And the thing is, Graanth is good at these tricks. Better than Ektor once he gets the hang of them. He'd think he was just coming back for more tips if Ektor didn't know that he was this bad long before Ektor stumbled across Vindictierre.)

Another break, and Ektor never realizes how sensitive his tail is until it's being stabbed by needles. Cinna and Alec both have to hold him in place for the hours it takes to dot his spine and run rings along the length of his tail, crouched over the tub until Graanth is finally, blessedly, done.

They rinse him off, but he stays in the tub the rest of the night, blood and ink mixing to make lazy rivers of red-black that march their way into the drain.

It's another day before all traces of bleeding are gone. A week until the last of the scabbing flakes off.

But when it's done, and Vindictierre is preparing for its first wedding under a night sky, Ektor doesn't understand the regrets he was feeling. The markings are bold lines and rings, framing his horns, accentuating his eyes before disappearing into the blue fuzz of hair already growing back before reappearing down his neck over his shoulders and arms, tracing hips, dotting his back and making his tail stand out more than it ever had before.

They look enough like Graanth's to not mistake them for anything but Goliath in origin, but the patterns are uniquely Ektor's at the same time. Matching, but complementary rather than direct copy. Graanth is in every inch of it, but it's still designed for Ektor, and that's...so indicative of who they are to one another that he couldn't imagine it any other way.

It was Ektor's choice to do this. Ektor's choice to belong to Graanth in all the ways that matter. But still his own person, even in this.

No, he can't find a regret.


End file.
